Reality is Different: Afterword

Her doelike eyes shot wider at the words, at their weight and implication. Her own soft and satin lips slipping gingerly apart to speak, to answer, question, who could say. That was when he kissed her. It wasn't a decision - it was a fact of nature, a demand that couldn't be denied, sweeping down with sudden force to taste the supple sweetness of her mouth, to devour the tiny squeak of shock that quietly escaped her as his right hand clamped like steel there behind her neck. As his lips crushed ravenous to hers, pressed and ground and worried at those delicately pliant little pillows as though to wring from them a fragment of her very soul.

For a couple seconds she was unresponsive, stiff and staring with surprise - then all at once she melted, swooned to putty in his grasp, and he had to throw his other arm behind her back to hold her tight against him as she kissed him back with feverish intensity. Her body burning hot in his embrace, her small hands clasping faint and awkward at his elbow, at his side. Her soft mouth open, welcoming, intoxicating as the breath passed humid there between them, as she gently trembled in his arms and his need, his hunger howled its possession of this fine and tempting girl that he held. The flame of masculine desire only strengthened by her faint, melodic whimpers, cries, the mewling helpless feeling that flowed so lushly from between her eager lips with every time he moved, or crushed her tighter, or allowed his own lips to drop a trifle lower, to the side, and taste a trail of her slender jaw, her throat.

The flavor of her was a drug, a spice that lingered on his lips and saturated slow into his consciousness, mixing hot and thrilling, wild with the want that thrummed inside him, the jealous need still searing sharp along his spine, the instinct of an animal presented with a fertile mate. It was that stew of feeling in him that took hold of his tongue, that commanded, growled gutteral into her neck. "I'm not going to let you go, princess." Possessive, trapping her between him and the wall, tracing down a hand appreciative along her side, clasping close beneath her breast. "If you were going to leave as an adult, a woman, that's one thing, I'd have accepted that. But if that's not good enough for you, if you want to be a little girl instead, you're going to be my little girl." The corner of his mouth against her skin, beside her ear, a wicked pounding in his heart to simply speak this claim to her. This wish, this dream that swam out of the depths, older than he ever could admit. "I'm the one who's going to watch over you, protect you. I'm the one the you'll obey. You understand me, Sarah?"

She nodded swiftly, jerkily, uneven with excited apprehension. It wasn't good enough, didn't satisfy the knotted urges at his breast. "Then say it. Say that I'm your father, I'm your daddy, now and always." God, the scent of her as he breathed in, clean skin overlaid with the fruity odor of perfume, and with the faintest hint of sweat.

"You're my daddy," she trembled with the words, a whisper keening worshipful. A sound his heart pumped powerful to hear. "You're my only daddy, you're...I mean it's just the truth, with anybody else I'd be pretending, I'd be lying to myself, but with you it's real." Rambling rhapsodic. "It's real, you're the man who made me, so you're the only man that I belong to, the only-!"

Her voice dissolved to briefly wordless exclamation as he abruptly hauled her up into the air, his strong arm slipping down supportively beneath her dainty derriere. Her long legs wrapping round his waist in autonomic panic, locking tight to hold herself aloft as he again sought out her lips, bore her backwards, pressed her back against the wall and crushed her gently there between it and his body as he drank again as deeply as he could the wine of her embrace, her mouth, the heated tremors of her slender form against him. The sweetness of the tiny sounds of pleasure that escaped her as he stroked his one free hand a slow, exacting measure of appreciation down her thigh, beneath the tousled fabric of her dress. Eager. That was certainly the word, the wild fervency that hid inside her, waiting for release, that rolled her hips so tempting on his hardness that he couldn't keep a little growl of desire from rising up unbidden to his throat. Didn't even try to keep his hand from fumbling behind her back to snatch upon the delicate black zipper of her dress, exulting in the subtle rasping sound that issued as he hauled it halfway down.

"Your bedroom..." The phrase escaped her only faintly, murmured with a shiver of delirium as he kissed roughly at her neck - but it was as fine a plan as he had ever heard. They teetered just a little as he pulled her backward from the wall, but she was slim enough that there was scarcely any trouble hauling her about, particularly for just long enough to bring her to his bedroom, to his bed. A week ago she'd tricked her way into it, lay beside him, left him sleepless there for far too long with the awareness of the woman there beside him, with the soft suggestions that he hadn't let himself believe he'd heard. Today, tonight - oh, there would be recompense, a thought that twitched within his loins, that ground her close against him with another hungered kiss as he sat heavily upon the bottom of the bed, her knees spread out to either side, resting in his lap. The look of her in shining charmeuse, a flush of need upon her features, her rumpled dress uneven, jostled at the shoulder, ready to be stripped away. Long past ready. He reached up to peel it away, to expose her, to unveil what his little girl had been hiding from his eyes...

...and was surprised when she reached up herself to stop him. Indirectly, at least, arms crossed at her bust, holding it concealed even after he had pulled away the shoulder strap. Her slender fingers curled on the shining fabric. "Wait." She spoke the word, conflicted, as no more than a breath. "Just..."

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" The murmur came out sharper than it should have, hotter, humming with an almost edge of warning. She couldn't be. Not now, not after she had driven him to such extremes...

"No, no," she quietly agreed, emphatically, a whisper of hysteria within her tone. "No, god, I - even if I were, or if I ever do, I don't care, I don't want you to listen, I want you to hold me down and...and use me, until I remember where my place is." A vibrant energy within her gaze, manic and conflicted.

The growl rose up automatic in his throat at the suggestion, echoing within his marrow. Rasping as he spoke, "Christ, pumpkin, you'd better watch out saying things like that. I might just take you seriously." The vision of it flitted brief through his imagination, scented with a certain sick allure. The image of her pressed against the floor, her tight and shapely little bottom forced into the air for him to ravish, hard and fast, pounding merciless into her quivering body until her pleas for him to stop were turned to moans and squeals of ecstasy...the savagery of the idea stained the corners of his consciousness as he again tugged at the shoulders of her dress.

And as she again resisted it, her hesitation of before still unresolved. "Wait." A struggle in her tone, a straining. "It isn't second thoughts, but I'm, I just...I want it to be perfect." Pleading in her honeyed eyes, a fearful, faint pollution of torment amidst the urgency he'd seen before. "Or at least as perfect as it can, I mean I've read about these moments like this so, so many times, but it's always...the girls in the stories, they're always perfect too. They're beautiful and sexy, and I just - I know I don't look like that, I don't look like the girls in your movies. My boobs aren't big enough, and my ribs stick out too far, and I've got these moles, and I just..." A warble, struggling. "I just don't want you to be disappointed."

Lord, this girl. The insecurity of youth. He shook his head a trifle, let his hands to soften, squeeze upon the bare flesh of her shoulders. "Princess, do you think that I'm the handsomest guy out there? That I'd fit in on the covers of those fitness magazines?"

"Of course." She agreed without a pause, without a hint of doubt.

"Of course," he echoed softly, chuckling, unable to escape the sudden sweep of humor through him. "Right. Good answer, that's correct. But do you think all the other girls out there would feel the same?"

"Well." She hesitated there, broke off her gaze, before she finally decided that she couldn't make this credible. Couldn't quite convince herself. "That's just because you're not their dad."

"Exactly," he affirmed with gentle strength. "I'm your dad. And you're my daughter. And that means no one out there is more beautiful, nobody's sweeter, sexier than you. As far as I'm concerned, you're the only girl in the world."

She looked appeased - though not completely. A conflict still within her eyes, a quarreling, eager to believe and yet still weighted down with doubt, with the persistency of reason and of fear. Another tactic was required. He shifted to a lower tone, rougher, firmer, a coarseness of command for which he knew she hungered. "Besides, it's not your place to worry about things like that, is it?" His hand reached up to clasp beside her jaw, his thumb to stroke upon her lips, to scarcely press between. A whisper of their evening indiscretions as he echoed, "Is it, babygirl?"

A little gasp escaped her at the phrase, a quiver of reaction as her gaze shot up to fix wide-eyed upon his own. The answer came just after, shivering with certainty. "No."

"No, it's not," he quietly confirmed, pressing her compliant mouth a little wider, tracing, toying at the softness of her lips. Feeling the desire pound within his heart to wet his thumbtip on her waiting tongue. "A little girl like you is just supposed to listen to her daddy, isn't she? To do anything he tells her, anything he wants."

She didn't speak an answer, couldn't, with his intrusion there into her mouth. She could only make a wet and garbled little sound as her chin gently quivered, as a contortion of intense emotion swept across her features, tearful, longing and relieved. Ready as he pressed on further, explained in tones that brooked no disagreement. "And right now, daddy wants to see his little girl. I want to see what you've been hiding from me, what you've been teasing me with for these last few weeks."

No answer whatsoever, this time. He hadn't asked her anything. But she offered no resistence either as he tugged again upon her dress, moved her hands aside as passive, docile as a doll's, as the toy she'd begged to be. God, how plain it was she needed this, she needed him. And how fine the alabaster skin that he unveiled inch by inch, creamy pale, accentuated here and there by scatterings of freckles or by the tiny moles that she'd invoked, more adding than subtracting from her innocently sensuous allure. The soft swell of her bosom slowly brought into the light, as bare as he'd suspected underneath the ebon of her dress, smooth and shapely little teardrops standing pertly as the fabric fell away, and she was unclothed before him from the waist.

"God damn, princess." There was a sigh in it, a gasp, a groan, looking at her for a long and lustful moment. Reaching up to wrap a calloused hand around one firm and supple breast, sized perfectly to fit within his grasp, to squeeze that tempting flesh between his fingers and listen to the tiny cry that tumbled from his daughter's throat, a sound that echoed with a mingling of pleasure and of abject embarrassment. To roll and softly pinch her stiffened nipple there between his thumb and fingertip, a nubbin of delightful, youthful pink, strawberry-sweet, begging his attention..."If I'd known what you had waiting for me here, I'd have hauled you down into my bed a long, long time ago."

Shy spoke after a pause, a trifle breathless. Her tone pitched up and tremulous with feeling, with sensation as he continued stroking at her breast. "Like when mom left?" And when he raised an eyebrow, when a shadow of a frown crossed to his features, surprised that she would bring up the divorce right now, she hastened to elaborate in urgent whispers, interspersed with pleasured sighs. "I mean because...because a man needs somebody to satisfy him, his urges. And it's, it's one thing that I thought about, you know, that after she was gone you might have called me down and told me that was my job now, to offer you relief. To take her place." Stammering a bit through scarlet cheeks, so conscious of her half-undress and of his touch.

"Take her place?" He echoed with a slight shake of the head - but her beginnings of dismay at the denial were restrained by the possessive grin that curled on his lips, the throaty chuckle in his tone. "Oh, no. She was taking up your place, pumpkin. I should have kicked her out years earlier."

Sarah's laughter was a brief and sudden thing, explosive and a trace hysterical. "God, I'm dreaming, aren't I?" A straining in her voice, the fidget of her fingers at the bottom of his shirt. "That's just the kind of thing that I've imagined you would say, with all this."

"No, you're not dreaming," he murmured as he kissed her once again, slow and powerful, slipped an arm around her back to pull her, hold her close against him. Feasting on the delicacy of her lips, her narrow jaw, a trail of tiny kisses lingering along her slender neck and to her collar, and every taste but whetted his desire til at last he spun around to shove her backwards to the bed, threw himself upon her, pinned her underneath him with a growl that escaped from somewhere deep inside. A pounding drumbeat alternating in his heart, love and hunger, desperate to sate himself upon her form, to give her everything she'd dreamed. It was all that he could do to mutter huskily into her skin, "What else have you imagined I would do to you, Sarah?"

"Oh, god, everything," she fairly whimpered, writhed beneath him, long legs bare and sliding rhythmic patterns on his own. Her words a babbling, a rapid hush. "Almost everything. I thought about you keeping me chained up beneath your desk. I thought about you playing with me out in public, or in front of all my friends, or making me present myself for your inspection. Or about you kinda choking me, a little bit..."

That last, at least, was something he could do right now. He raised himself to loom above her, to extricate his right arm from behind her back and lift it to her neck, permitting calloused fingertips to merely trace a moment, to tantalize with contact on that vulnerable flesh. Watching the exquisite, nervous skitter of her eyes, so wide upon his own before they flickered down to vainly try to focus on his hand as it closed gently on her neck, squeezed barely tight enough to feel it yield to his strength, to sense the structure of her tender throat beneath as he softly asked, "Like this?"

Her answer was an opened mouth, a wordless nod. A tremor through her body as he gave another slight and teasing little squeeze, as her hips twitched upward with an ancient instinct, grinding hopefully against him. Even after he'd released her, relaxed his grip, it took another couple rapid, ragged breaths before she tried to speak again. "...yeah." Her slight, enchanting tongue emerging for a second there to wet her lips. "I also, um. I thought about you calling me your..." A whisper, eager and afraid. "Your little slut."

Lord, but it was such a word for her to speak, so vulgar, base. His heart recoiled even as his manhood twitched to hear it, mingled horror and arousal to hear his darling girl, his perfect angel title herself such. He had to take a beat himself, watch the urgently devoted glitter of her gaze, oh-so-gently squeeze his fingers on her tender neck, before at last he asked, "Do you want to be my little slut?"

"...it doesn't matter if I want to be or not," she answered in a warm and blushing whisper, after just a tiny pause for thought. High, melodic, her voice like honey in his ear. "I don't think I can help it. Only a little slut would masturbate while sitting on her daddy's lap." The word emerged a trifle easier this time, looking upward at him with those big brown eyes. "Only a little slut would get as wet as I do when my daddy touches me."

No words more arousing had ever been conceived. He wasn't even sure his heart was beating as he murmured, quietly demanded, "Are you wet right now?" - and then abruptly reconsidered, interrupted her before she could respond. "No, don't answer that. I'm going to find out for myself."

It felt a kind of loss, a tiny heartache just to pull away from her, to rise up to his feet again. But there was recompense in gazing down at her, devouring the sight of her, bare-breasted, sprawled upon the covers. Her dress pulled down from her chest and ridden up about those long and limber legs, reduced to but a scrap of fabric there about her waist, covering no more than would a miniskirt. It was a simple thing to grab hold of that shimmering and silken cloth, to pull it down and off of her entirely as she wriggled slow, enticing at his touch. And underneath - god, she'd changed out of that pair of pastel blue-striped panties that his eyes had fastened to before, that so captured his attention when they crept out into sight there at the park. Those that hugged now at her hips were of a pure and virgin white, offset only by the band of lacy pink that beckoned just below her navel, begging to be grabbed and stripped away...and by the patch of dampness standing mutely at their base. Evidence of her excitement, of the need that she'd confessed. His little girl's desperate hunger for her daddy, for the love that only he could give.

There scarcely was a conscious thought inside him as his hands obeyed their instinct, reached to hook around that tight elastic waistband, to strip away the final scrap of cloth that hid her from his eyes. Just primal satisfaction at the whisper of it sliding on her skin, the faintest shadow of resistance as the spot of moistened fabric vainly tried to cling against her. And a softly hissing inhalation through his teeth as he beheld what lay beneath, that modest rise of smooth and milky-pale flesh, a bed of white to hold the gently blooming flower of her womanhood. Glistening and swollen with desire, her nether lips but softly pouting into view between a pair of thighs held barely parted - he couldn't, didn't try to keep himself from kneeling nearer to inhale the scent of her arousal, from reaching out to graze a thumb across her pink and dripping slit, smear her juices slowly on the silken surface of her mound above. The murmur was a thoughtless thing, a quiet wondering that thrummed with hunger just beneath. "I didn't realize you shaved, princess."

"I don't," she squeaked - and then struggled to explain, as he brought his hands against the inside of her knees, gently pushed her thighs a little wider, back for his approach. "I mean, I didn't, hadn't, I just - only did it now, today, after everything that happened at the park. In case you..." Her hips twitched upward, quivered as he laid a careful kiss upon her petals, felt the burning heat of her upon his lips. Brushed them through the slickness of her want, and whatever words she'd thought to speak dissolved into a liquid whimper. "...oh, daddy..."

How sweet, how perfect of a sound it made. A triumph in his ears as he allowed himself another kiss to slowly savor at her entrance, as his tongue emerged to taste her delicately bitter nectar, to drink it like the finest wine. The flavoring of youth, of health, of virgin purity he knew deep in his bones would not survive the night...his broad tongue swept her sopping womanhood, explored and teased her subtle outer folds, delighting in the melody of pleasure that descended from above. Her harmony of hums and sighs and lovely little gasps, punctuated here and there by affirmation, by that worship of a word. "Daddy," as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her wider still, opening her channel to his eager ministrations. "Daddy," as he unearthed her stiffened clit where it was buried by her furrows, caressed it with his tongue and hand. "Daddy," high and straining as he pushed her to the edge, as her legs clamped hot around his head, tight enough for him to hear the blood that coursed within her veins. Her body squirming with the waves of pleasure that he gave, rolling sharp along her nerves, the frantic arching of her spine, and he'd scarcely brought a single finger over to begin to probe within her garden when the first exquisite spasm struck her, her channel clenched around his fingertip, her hips bucked desperately against his face as a strangled, gasping cry of irrepressible sensation shuddered from her lips, and he lapped with only greater hunger at her flower, eager to prolong her agonized delight. His manhood twitching with her wild, jumbled words. "Oh, god, oh...daddy, oh my god, I - fuck, it feels so, it's...mmmph..."